


and then i freaked it

by brophigenia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Sex, Based on a Tumblr Post, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dream Pack, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome, Unsafe Sex, and we love him, but everyone's clean, mentions of recreational drug use, skov is just our brat prince heaux, the goddess of filth is BACK, y'all it's hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 05:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: “No sugar for me?” Proko says it so meanly, and Skov always forgets how mean he can be. How cruel. Crueler even than K, with eyes as cold as ice even when he’s being sweet, being soft.Skov looks at Swan, not exactly for permission but tosee,to gauge his reaction, his willingness to let this go on. Swan grins, a fearsome expression, and Skov realizes even before he speaks that they’ve planned this. Swan jostles him a little, cajoling. He says “go on, babe,” and so Skov leans over, lets Proko capture his lips.[AKA, the one where Skov gets done RIGHT by our boys Swan and Proko.]





	and then i freaked it

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired entirely by nsfw0lf's glorious art here: http://nsfw0lf.tumblr.com/post/177546203316/been-thinking-about-a-scenario-where-proko-warms 
> 
> Am I sorry about this? Hell fucking no. Title from King's Dead by Kendrick Lamar.

Swan’s dorm room is blue with smoke when Skov gets back from the skatepark, high on endorphins and grinning even with blood drying in long streaks on his shins from the epic fucking fall he’d taken trying to do something stupid. 

He comes in expecting just Swan— it’s Proko’s room too, but in name only. Proko stays with K, or maybe just roams the woods at night. 

(Proko doesn’t sleep. Not anymore. Not since he came back.)

Proko is there, too, though, slumped on the futon with Swan, shoulder to shoulder and both of them with eyes half-lidded, mouths swollen. Wet. 

They’ve been making out, and Skov’s belly goes simmering with abrupt want. He trips over to smear a kiss onto Swan’s mouth, letting himself be drawn into Swan’s lap with big hands on his hips. 

“No sugar for me?” Proko says it so  _ meanly,  _ and Skov always forgets how mean he can be. How cruel. Crueler even than K, with eyes as cold as ice even when he’s being sweet, being  _ soft.  _ Cuddling and tussling on the floor of K’s home theater, wearing the holey, worn-thin Thrasher crewneck he’d had since before Skov knew him. 

Skov looks at Swan, not exactly for permission but to  _ see,  _ to gauge his reaction, his willingness to let this go on. Swan grins, a fearsome expression, and Skov realizes even before he speaks that they’ve planned this. Swan jostles him a little, cajoling. He says “go on, babe,” and so Skov leans over, lets Proko capture his lips. 

Proko is a good kisser. Not too wet, not too sloppy. He takes control easily, sucking on Skov’s lower lip and stroking their tongues together. Swan, for his part, doesn’t let himself be forgotten; his hands roam up under Skov’s tee shirt, big calloused palms on the silken tautness of Skov’s stomach, fingertips on the peaks of Skov’s nipples. 

It’s so  _ much.  _

It’s not  _ enough.  _

Skov whines into Proko’s mouth. He sounds fucking  _ needy,  _ slushy with his want. He squirms; Swan laughs, and Proko wraps a hand in his hair, tugs him backwards. Tugs Skov away from the kiss so he can look him right in the eyes. “Oh Skovron,” Proko purrs, those cold eyes  _ almost  _ hot. On the edge of melting. Swan’s hands dip into his shorts. Skov pants, open-mouthed. “Do you want something?” Proko’s tone lilts with the question, and Skov realizes he’s speaking Russian. Was he always? Skov’s head feels fevered; he feels like his brain is gonna leak out his fucking  _ ears.  _

“Fuck me,” he demands, imperious. Playing at being a king. He’s only a brat, and Proko knows it, acknowledges the obscene falsehood with an elegantly arched brow, but does not reprimand him for the presumption. 

“Hmm,” Proko says, considering. Flicks his cold gaze to Swan, the corners of his lips ticking into an amused little grin. It’s a dangerous expression. 

(Proko is a dangerous thing.) 

“You’ll need to be warmed up properly if you’re gonna take his cock,” Proko says it so  _ seriously,  _ even as he’s biting down a mirthful laugh. He nods at Swan as if Skov needs the clarification.  _ Warmed up,  _ like Skov hasn’t been gleefully taking Swan’s cock at every opportunity for the last year. Swan vibrates beneath him with suppressed amusement. 

“Properly?” Skov repeats, losing the plot. Trying to duck Proko’s grip so he can be kissed again. He wants to be kissed again. Wants Proko’s fingers in his mouth, too. And Swan’s fingers somewhere else. 

“Uh huh,” Proko nods. “I’ll have to open you up for him. Get you used to it. All stretched out.” It’s filthy. It’s so fucking filthy. Skov’s cock is so hard in his shorts and his scalp is prickling with arousal. Every inch of him feels on fire. Obvious. Helpless.  _ Fuck.  _

Swan’s grip turns bruising on his thighs. 

“Yes,” Skov says, shocked and loud. “Yes, yes,  _ yes.”  _ They get him on his back, then, with his shorts tugged off but everything else left on, shirt pushed up impatiently out of the way, cap knocked to the floor. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to be romanced. He doesn’t need to be  _ convinced.  _

He needs to be  _ fucked,  _ and Proko knows it, grins darkly as he slicks up his cock with something clear and smelling of  _ blackberries. _ Real blackberries, not the fake chemical scent of store-bought flavored lube. It’s something from K, then, and it’s cool on Skov’s ass when Proko starts to work his cock in. He doesn’t bother with fingers first. Proko knows what he wants. Knows what they  _ all _ want. Skov can’t breathe with it, thighs flexing, held open wide by Proko’s long-fingered hands. 

He feels like a butterfly caught on a stickpin beneath Proko’s avid predator gaze, can't look Proko in the face anymore. He tips his head back to stare up at Swan instead, upside-down, straining against the hold of Swan’s hands wrapped around his wrists. Swan isn’t looking at his face. He’s looking at where Proko is shoving in, in,  _ in,  _ insistent and long, though not nearly as thick as Swan’s monster of a cock. 

“Shh,” Proko hushes him, and Skov realizes he’s keening. Blinks hard. His tongue is heavy, clumsy. He feels the kind of dizzy you get when you’ve eaten too many pot brownies, a full-body spinning that has nothing to do with motion sickness and everything to do with the pleasure wracking every square inch of his skin, lighting up all his nerve endings. “Be  _ good, _ Skov. You gotta relax, you’ll never be able to take him if you’re not  _ relaxed.”  _ It’s pointed, and Proko thrusts his hips forward a little, jarring and  _ glorious.  _

“You can go deeper,” Swan’s low voice is practically subvocal, a thrumming bass that catches Skov right where he fucking  _ lives.  _ “He can take it.” Proko takes him at his word, ducks his head and fucks in harder, deeper, sparkling gold chain swinging and hitting his chin with every thrust. He’s horribly lovely, long-limbed and freckle-skinned. Impossibly lovely, and even strung out from the  _ fantastic  _ dicking that Proko is providing, Skov is never able to forget that Proko is something  _ Other.  _

“Oh God oh fuck oh  _ God,”  _ Skov shouts, twisting, agonized with it. With Proko’s unerring aim, nudging up against his prostate with every single thrust, especially with Swan nudging him on, directing him with quiet murmured instructions like he’s telling him how to get to one of the local yokel bars downtown. 

“You can come, baby,” Swan leans down to whisper it in his ear, a demon with cinnamon-gum breath and soft lips. Skov is insensate. He can’t  _ take _ it anymore. “I’ll fuck you after, you’ll be so sweet for me.” 

“M’always sweet for you,” Skov tries to say, and then he’s coming, streaking his stomach with it, clenching around Proko, closing his thighs around Proko’s hips and weeping with the warm, giddy sweetness of it. 

Proko swears, strained, swallows thickly. He comes like that, grinding his hips in, rocking them restlessly until he’s too sensitive for it, pulling out with a gasp. And  _ god,  _ Skov’s so  _ wet.  _ So  _ open,  _ and he reaches shaking fingers down to touch his own hole, dreamy and needy still, feeling Proko’s come and K’s magicked-up lube. 

(Even when he’s not, K is always with them.) 

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Swan asks him, rough and fond. Stroking his fingers through Proko’s sweat-soaked hair, reassuring if he didn’t tug on it before he let go, quick and vicious. Skov nods, mindless. He’s always ready for Swan. He always wants to get fucked. 

He always feels so fucking  _ empty,  _ except when there’s someone else to fill him up. 

Swan gathers him up, pulls him into his lap like he’d done earlier, except this time neither of them are wearing pants and Skov is hollowed out,  _ open,  _ pupils blown and legs jellified. 

Swan lifts him with one arm, holds his cock steady with the other, and it’s a thick, sweet slide in, into where Skov is blood-hot and  _ dripping.  _

“ _ Baby,”  _ Swan says in his ear, overcome. Like he might cry with it. Like  _ he’s _ overwhelmed, when  _ Skov _ is the one with his eyes rolled back in his head, when  _ Skov _ is the one so sensitive that tears are streaming down his cheeks. His lips are parted. Proko’s fingers stroke over his tongue, stuff his mouth full, teeth scraping knuckles and salt on his taste buds. 

Swan comes quickly, adds to the mess. Adds to the  _ wet,  _ and Skov isn’t hard but he’s still blind with pleasure, humming when he’s put on his stomach. Crying when the fingers leave his mouth to knuckle their way into his ass, companionably fucking into him a few times before they pull out, coaxing more come to spill out onto his thighs. 

They both lay down next to him, bolstering Skov on either side, and he falls asleep like that, twitching with aftershocks and  _ calmed. _

_ Full,  _ finally, and too tired to want  _ more.  _

_ ( _ For a little while, at least.)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
